Tag Archives: cautionary tale

My girl Annie sent me an email that I think is worth sharing with you. Annie is an eyebrow goddess, and therefore I implicitly trust her advice (though I haven’t yet tried this trick myself).

Here is her brow wisdom.

DC,

Two words for you: castor oil. Rub it in 2 times a day, then use what remains on a finger on lashes. You’ll find it is in almost all brow/lash growth products, and that is actually how I fell upon that beauty jam.

Love,

AM

Castor oil has many useful applications, including breaking up scar tissue I hear. One word of caution, after some advice from a well-known body worker, my friend Trisha rubbed castor oil all over her midsection in an effort to break up scar tissue from a gnarly accident and subsequent surgeries. Trish tends to do things balls to the wall and the intensity of her bedtime castor oil application wasn’t any exception. The next morning after a vigorous 2 hour yoga intensive, Trisha darted back to her apartment, but didn’t quite make it before she shit her pants. Even worse? She dropped her drawers and ran up the stairs PorkyPig style (shirt + no pants), and a dude was walking his dog in the alley and caught her bare shitty ass running up the stairs. Let Trisha’s humiliation serve as your warning. Castor oil is great, but take it easy or you can shit your pants.

Many whiny white boys will watch the Ian Curtis biopic Control for the music, but I think it plays best as a cautionary tale reminding women why they shouldn’t marry that mopey disaffected musician they banged in their late teens/early twenties.

Let me summarize: Ian Curtis wanted to be a rockstar. Ian Curtis formed a band called Joy Division (named after a WWII brothel frequented by Nazis). Ian Curtis married the first girl he ever loved, Debbie, before either reached twenty. Joy Division garnered a following. Debbie got pregnant with their daughter Natalie. Ian predictably started banging a Belgian jump-off named Annik. Ian suffered from epilepsy. Even though his band landed a North American tour, Ian was depressed. Debbie found out about Annik and wanted a divorce. Just days before Joy Division’s first U.S. tour, Ian begged Debbie not to divorce him. She refused, so he hung himself in her kitchen.

I appreciate Joy Division, after all, without Joy Division there would be no New Order, but committing suicide at 23 and leaving behind a wife, daughter, mistress, and a band on the brink of greatness is pretty fucking selfish. Enjoy the brooding Ian Curtis types in your twenties and then leave them there where they belong, but take the music with you.